


Her Soul's Minister

by Musyc



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Community: hp_rarities, Cunnilingus, F/F, Hermione Granger - character, Pansy Parkinson - Character, femmeslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-24
Updated: 2010-06-24
Packaged: 2017-10-10 06:29:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/96644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Musyc/pseuds/Musyc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>The five senses are the ministers of the soul. (Leonardo da Vinci)</i> - Pansy explores her lover through her senses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Her Soul's Minister

01\. Hermione's skin is soft, smooth as finest satin beneath Pansy's hands. Fingers spread wide, Pansy slides her hands over Hermione's calves, past the small dimples in Hermione's knees, under the hem of Hermione's skirts. She pushes her hands up bare, warm thighs, traces the muscles that tighten and tense under her palms. She strips Hermione's robes, pushes the heavy silk off pale shoulders, slides the delicate fabric away from full breasts. She runs her fingers in spirals around the points of firm nipples, rubs the heels of her hands across the crinkled circles of dusky aureoles.

Pansy strokes Hermione's cheek, brushes the pad of her thumb across lips as warm as velvet. She covers Hermione with caresses, until she imagines that every inch of Hermione's skin bears the prints of her fingers, bears the mark of her touch. She smiles to think that Hermione goes home to her husband with the invisible traces of her touches on that slim body, and it spurs her to pat and pet and trail her hands over rounded limbs, slender waist, trimmed mound, to slip her fingers up the valley between firm buttocks, into the heat of slick folds. She seeks Hermione's clit, rolls it under her thumb, presses it between her fingers. She slides her fingers into Hermione's cunt, one, and out. Two, and out. Three, and _twist_, and she touches, caresses, strokes.

02\. Hermione uses lush, expensive salts in her bath, imported from a small shop discovered on holiday in Rome. The salts infuse the hot water that soothes tight muscles, fill the steamy air. Honeysuckle and poppies sink into her hair, spread across her skin, and Pansy nuzzles into her neck with a sigh of deep pleasure. She inhales, slow and deep, pulling the scent into her lungs like smoke, until she is full up with it, until she cannot take a breath without the sweetness of flowers.

Pansy searches through the deep valley of Hermione's cleavage, seeks out the hollows beneath Hermione's ears and in the bends of Hermione's knees, skims over the plain of Hermione's stomach, the upturned tip of her nose hunting for more and more of the scent before it fades, before it flees. She trails the scent like a hound after a fox, and finds it, strong and intoxicating, between the rolling hills of Hermione's thighs. She breathes it from the petals of Hermione's cunt and floats away in pleasure.

03\. Hermione's mouth is full, the scarlet of apples in sunshine. Pansy presses her mouth to Hermione's, to lips with the texture of a firm peach. She flicks her tongue across them, slips her tongue between them. She finds a path down the slim column of Hermione's throat, delves into the hollows of Hermione's collar bones. She bends to Hermione's breasts, tugs the small nipples into her mouth, rolls them over her tongue.

Down Hermione's stomach, over Hermione's hips, across Hermione's thighs. Pansy licks a circle around Hermione's navel, flattens her tongue against Hermione's cunt. She probes in, between the plump folds. She gathers honey, nectar, juices on her tongue. It fills her mouth, drips down her chin. Pansy sucks on the firm, round berry of Hermione's clit. Hermione sways and quivers and blossoms, her body open, her flavors sweet.

04\. Hermione tries to hold back her groans when Pansy slips fingers into her cunt, tries to stop her cries when Pansy's tongue slides over her clit. She sinks her teeth into her lip and reaches up behind her to take a steady grasp on the wrought-iron headboard. It creaks as she pulls at it in rhythm to Pansy's thrusts. She whines when Pansy raises her head and looks up with a wide and knowing smile; she whimpers when Pansy lowers her head and drags her lips up the soft skin of Hermione's inner thighs.

Pansy laughs soft and low as Hermione drops one hand and threads her fingers through Pansy's hair. Hermione mutters under her breath, more, faster, now, makes demands in a quiet repetition, in a litany of need. Pansy waits, teases, until Hermione's voice lifts, until Hermione's demands become pleas, waits until her voice turns to broken moans. Listening to the slick movements of her fingers in Hermione's cunt, to the soft laps of her tongue on Hermione's clit, Pansy waits until Hermione begs. When she hears that, when she hears the desperate pleading, Pansy sets to her work with a hearty good will, and before long, fingers ripping at the sheets by her hips, Hermione comes.

05\. Pansy watches as Hermione dresses in the grey shadows of dawn, watches from a nest of tangled blankets and mounded pillows. The arms of Morpheus are open, tempting her with the welcome of rest and sleep, but she can never bear to close her eyes until Hermione has left. She watches the dark, woolen skirt slide up over hips bearing reddening marks of lips, teeth, and tongue, watches the crisp shirt be buttoned up over lush breasts and nipples still hard with arousal. She watches thick robes cover the whole, hiding narrow waist and flared hips, shrouding long limbs and pale skin.

Pansy watches Hermione twist her hair up behind her head, watches the long strands fall down her back. Watches Hermione's slim fingers separate her curls into a pair of thick locks, then into three. Watches Hermione comb out the tangles left from tossing her head on the pillows, ease out the knots left from throwing her head back with her cries of passion. She admires the quick, confident movements forming a thick braid that starts high on the crown of Hermione's head and moves along her spine in a dark ripple.

She touches her lips, swollen with kisses, and feels them as they move in a deep smile. She holds her fingers beneath her nose, and her smile deepens even further at the scent of honeysuckle and Hermione that clings to her skin. She slips the point of her tongue from her mouth and licks the last remnants of Hermione's taste from her knuckles. She listens to the soft rustle of Hermione's robes. She listens for the quiet farewell, and she sprawls into the pillows as the door closes, leaving her in silence and solitude. With a languid stretch, she hums, satiated, and falls into sleep with her hand on the warm indentation in her pillow, her senses full of her lover, her soul full of peace.


End file.
